An Angel's Touch

by Susan D. Kalior

  She was trying to save him. I’d allow her—for now. But tonight, he’d be mine. He wouldn’t last long anyway with Diego lurking, or Aruka, for that matter. Unless they’d planned to first turn him against me, and use him, before they used him. I could do that too, but I couldn’t risk Jen falling in love with him, turning to him—like this.

  She came up behind me. “I’ll call you later, André—about Russia. You might have to go without me.”

  “I’ll wait for your call,” he said with his back against the corridor wall. He looked at her affectionately and then at me as if we could all be friends, if only I’d comply. His liquid love eyes made me want to eat him then and there. He was a Shen all right, responding with compassion instead of vengeance. His heart began to inadvertently flow light.

  I grunted, thrusting my hand in front of his face to distract him. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  He said, “You need help man. Didn’t anybody ever teach you manners?”

  I growled because I could fake manners better than anyone. I just didn’t feel like it.

  He walked down the hall, looking back periodically with sad eyes.

  His sadness sickened me. And I sickened me. I was behaving, so humanly.

  I turned back to Jen.

  She was scowling at me. “You were so mean to him. You hurt his feelings.”

  “The only feelings I care about are yours. The rest be damned.”

  “But you hurt me when you hurt him.”

  “Well, you hurt me when you need him.”

  “He’s just my friend.”

  “He’d be more—in time. “

  “Is that what you think? Is that why you chased him away? I thought you loved me. I thought you trusted me now.”

  “I never trust you,” I said.

  Her mouth dropped as if she wanted to rebut, but somehow she knew she was capable of betraying our so-called love. She had before. “Well . . . well,” she stammered, “don’t you want me to be happy?”

  “Not in the arms of another man.”

  “I need him now.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Didn’t she know I’d let no other man win her—ever? I circled her slowly. She turned in place, eyeing me, as she listened to my charge. “No man can school you, safeguard you, or fuck you like me.”

  “Don’t say that word,” she said. Nice little girl.

  “You love fire.” I flared my eyes. “I am fire. You need me, no matter how much you want to run away.”

  “I do need you, johnny,” she said.

  I stopped circling and glared at her.

  She said, “And I do love you.”

  I turned away and walked to the window.

  She said, “I just don’t want you lying to me, or tricking me, or chasing away my friends.”

  I looked down at the city street to distract myself from my monster urges. A young couple walked by holding hands. I sighed, despising my need for Jen, and the lengths I went to keep her. Even I—was putting out a call, further alerting every Tazmark of my whereabouts. I had to arrest these feelings. Diego was right. I had to get stronger, colder, tougher, and apathetic—like I used to be.

  She came up behind me. “johnny, why did you want me pregnant?”

  I continued to stare out the window, not giving her a response. I couldn’t tell her that it was a desperate act to make her need me more than she already did. I couldn’t tell her that I needed her, beyond the reasons I understood. I couldn’t admit how human I was becoming, even if that disclosure could draw empathy from her. Ironic, but I was more dangerous as a human than a Tazmark—for as a human I was ungoverned by Tazmarkian law, becoming perhaps nothing more than a sadistic killer, wanting to snuff even those who did not put out the call. She might hate me for my silence. However, I’d take hate over humiliation any day. If I had to keep her by force the way I sometimes did, then so be it.

  “johnny,” she said resting her hand on my back, “talk to me.”

  I turned around and stabbed her with dark eyes. “Let’s talk about what you have done to me.”

  “What? What awful thing have I done to you?”

  I said, “You restrict me too much.”

  “johnny, you restrict me totally. Last year, you stopped me from marrying Ricky because you claimed he’d rule me. Well, you rule me too!”

  “Only when you want to escape me.”

  She put her hands over her face and shook her head in frustration.

  I said, “I need more freedom to do what I must—for us, Jen. To protect us both, I need more power.”

  Her hands slipped down over her heart. “I don’t understand. You’ve continued your nightly ritual. Isn’t that enough?”

  I shook my head lightly.

  “That stuff . . . about Satan—” she swallowed hard, “were you trying to tell me something?”

  I was torn between torturing her and comforting her. I chose the later. Eventually, I always did. I reached out.

  She stepped back. Not going to let me comfort her, I guess.

  I stepped forward. “Restraining my true nature taxes me. That’s the point.”

  She stepped back again. “Are you . . . Satan?”

  She wasn’t breathing, so I said, “What is Satan? The dark side of life? Yes, I am of the dark side of life. But there is no Satan.”

  I awaited her response to see if she would try and give me the same bum wrap that the Bible did. I was bringing her too close to the truth. And the truth would turn her against me. I said, “Anyway, could Satan fall in love?”

  Her penetrating azure eyes about punctured holes in me, probing for truth.

  I saturated my thoughts with tenderness, all the tenderness I could muster—fake and real.

  She replied, “I—I suppose not.”

  “Jen,” I said, my eyes whirling, whirling.

  She stepped back again. “Don’t do that to me johnny. I can’t trust you when you do that.”

  But I did it anyway. It was my power to reach into one’s unconscious and make them do my bidding. “I know you want to rush to the light of Angel Boy, but it’s darkness you must face. I can assist you. If you remain linked to me, you’ll survive. If you do not break your link with him, your doom is certain. He is even less able than you in matters of the world. Trust me to protect you. You would have perished many times over if not for me.”

  “This is all true, johnny, but I need his comfort now, and I know he won’t harm me.”

  “He tempts you to leave me, to run from what you must face in order to survive. I won’t allow that.” I tried to stop it, but bloodlust gleamed in my eye.

  “Please don’t harm André. Please johnny! You promised you would not harm those I cared for.”

  The coldness that had once bored me—returned, a salve, dissolving delinquent emotions. I had stayed the execution of my apathy. Now, for another lie. And it was good for me to do so. “So be it. I won’t destroy him, but I will make him leave you.” She was shaking her head no, but I continued. “He might not want contact with you anymore. He’d be better off staying away. Tazmarks lurk in the shadows, Jen. We are all in danger.”

  “johnny,” she said calmly, “my Angels will protect us.”

  “Your Angels won’t protect me, unless they need me to protect you. Your Angels can’t protect you, if you call for suffering.”

  “Why do you keep saying that? I think the fight in Montana changed that about me.”

  “No, you still call for it. It is the truth.”

  “How, how is it the truth?”

  “When you sacrificed the mouse’s life for me to eat, what did you think of yourself?”

  She paused, even though she had the answer.

  “Well?”

  “I thought I was a bad person.”

  “And when you think you’re bad, then what?”

  “I want to . . . repent.”

  “How does one repent?”

  “One must suffer for what they’ve done.”

  “See.”


  “But I try hard not to hurt anyone.”

  “You’re human, Jen. It’s bound to happen.”

  “But if I do hurt another, I try to help them, and then the guilt disappears.”

  “And what of those who ail, and not by your cause?”

  “I have to ease their pain, or I feel like I have failed.”

  “And when you believe you have failed, what do you think of yourself?”

  “I . . . I think—. Look, I get the point.”

  “You think you are bad, and when you think you are bad you want to repent, like in your past lives: the Mongolian monk who suffered for the world, and the priestess that allowed mass rape by monks for failing to save the world. You see Jen, you cannot win. Even if you do not cause suffering, you cannot cure all of it, and you are plagued with guilt. You want to repent for all those who cause suffering and take the pain for all those who receive it. You are a martyr through and through. You call Jen. You call hard. Your torment is a beacon for predators. I am not the only one or kind that answers a call.”

  She did not rebut. She knew the truth. Her energy caved into itself. She journeyed with weighted feet into the bedroom, hands over womb, heading for the far corner near the bathroom. She crouched into a ball pushing her shoulder as deep into the corner as she could.

  I moved toward her, my stomach twisting. That Halkodama had not set well with me. No, it was her. She made my stomach twist. Reaching her, I knelt.

  Her sad, scared eyes found mine. She swallowed hard, and inhaled a quivering breath. “For now, your parents don’t exist, okay? I’m not pregnant, and you’re not anything even close to Satan. Okay? Let me work with André in Russia. Once the baby comes, I will be restricted. So, free me now to do what I must, and I’ll free you to do what you must. I couldn’t stop you anyway. I just ask that you don’t stop me. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine.”

  “The baby,” I asked, “the radiation could hurt it—or don’t you care.”

  “Of course I care! But if I take precautions with my Divine Light around me, I think all will be well, don’t you?”

  I didn’t acknowledge her, but she was right. In addition, I had cloaked the fetuses in black light to guard against accidents. Not that I cared how they came out, and sometimes not even if they came out—but I wanted to spare Jen trauma.

  I asked, “Are you going to keep it?”

  “I can’t abort it, johnny. And I could never give it away. I’m not ready to be a mother, especially of a . . . you know—” She bowed her head and something changed. Her body tensed with that little fury she sometimes mustered. Her head snapped up, and resentment arrows shot towards me. “But I guess you’ve made that decision for me.” She sighed, closed her eyes and let her head fall back, the fury growing. I loved it when fury took her.

  Her head came forward. Acrimony burned in her eyes. “I will love it, even if it’s like you. Even it kills. Even if it kills me one night.” Her voice climbed, “I will love it no matter what! Is that what you want, johnny!” She came up on her knees and thrust her hands against my chest, as if to tip me over. “What!” she wailed, “Do you want me to love it unconditionally, accept it totally, endorse its existence no matter how malefic? Would it please you somehow to see me give these things to a Tazmark baby?”

  “No” I said, “it would please me to see you give those things to me.”

  She stared at me, stunned for a moment. “You’re not my child, johnny.”

  “My loss,” I said.

  She sighed hard, as if wanting to disclaim that I felt pain. “You’re asking me to deny all that I am. To take you in like that, I would have to let myself as I know myself to be—die.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That is what you ask of me. Jen, that is exactly what you ask of me.”

  Her mouth fell open, her expression comprehending. Then suddenly, she flung her arms around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, johnny! I am so sorry. I’m trying hard—so hard to give you what you need. But what you’re asking for is very close to Divine Love. Very, very close. But I’ll try. I’ll try, johnny, I will. I will try to answer your call.”

  I wrapped my arms around her waist. A great affection welled inside me, scourging my chest with a pain so deep I could barely breathe. I couldn’t weather so much emotion all at once. I had to push it down and seal it away. I fought my compulsion to make love to her—love. If I did that now, right this moment, I’d never be the same. Hell, it might even kill me.

  I took her hands and placed them over the dragon talisman on her chest. “Remember, I am your salvation. Don’t forget.” I made myself stand, and forced myself to step back.

  Her wondering eyes gazed up at me.

  My words floated down to her. “We must be strong, Jen. We must both be strong.”

  Her expression held confusion.

  I said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

  I sensed her eyeing me as I walked into the spacious, blue marble bathroom, but nothing like the way I eyed myself when I looked into the lavish, oval, brass-lined mirror. I looked dirty, and I felt dirty in more ways than one. And that had never bothered me before. I felt like the victim of a cruel prank, the joke of the universe, a Tazmark with a conscience. I was, as Mother had said, a humiliation to the Black Dragon Kings. I once was among them, but I couldn’t remember how. I sense I was powerful, but exiled. Yet, I can hear Quen-tan, Lord of Dragons, speak to me in whispers. I don’t know how it’s done, but he teaches me about destruction.

  I stripped and climbed into the square shower, closing the clear glass door with a click. Scorching water poured over me, lengthening my hair down to the middle of my back. I rubbed the blue bar of soap over my biceps, feeling the humanness of me, the humanness I’d invited to flourish in the fires of my soul. Okay, so I was pioneering, daring to go, as they say, ‘where no Tazmark has gone before,’ or . . . was that a man? Well, I was both. Who said I couldn’t have it all. Maybe sensitizing myself to Jen would desensitize me to the adverse effects of Divine Love. Maybe I’d be the only Tazmark in history who could touch the full range of evil and good.

  As the last of the soap suds slid off me, I sensed danger. Concerned for Jen, I turned off the water and listened. Hearing nothing, I stepped out of the shower and walked naked into the bedroom, leaving a wet trail on the plush gold carpet.

  Jen was gone. “Jen?” I walked into the living room. She was not there either. I searched for her with my mind. I sensed a faint anxiety coming from her, and it wasn’t rooted in the hotel.

  “Juan.”

  I turned around.

  A nude female stood before me, a light-skinned, red-haired Amazonian beauty. Who was she? Why was she here? The whole ominous plot was right on schedule. Not my schedule, and not my plot, but happening none-the-less. The naked woman had a crimson aura, engulfed in a Black Light Shield, definitely Tazmark. Tazmarks were characteristically at least six feet tall, even thousands of years ago. Waist length red-gold hair reached her wide hips. Strands trailed the sides of her ample breasts. A Renaissance body, Michelangelo style, so unlike my Jen. Jen was not the voluptuous type. I preferred the soft full moon eyes of my Jen, eyes that glowed eternity. Body appeal was most overrated. Of course, that was my doing.

  The Tazmark approached. She was a Golden Tazmark, a weaker breed than my own, yet their seductive abilities transcended those of the Black Tazmarks.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “Juan,” she said stepping up to me with a sloe-eyed expression, licking her pink lips lasciviously. She trailed her fingers over my biceps and pushed herself against me, squashing her breasts against my chest, burying my shaft in red curly hairs. Arousing, but not enough to distract me from Jen.

  “Where is she?” I asked again.

  “Impregnate me, Prince,” she said.

  My mind slipped through her Black Light Shield, not dense enough to stop me. I found a vision in her head of mother luring Jen away with charms of fairytale fantasy. Mother’s timing was impeccable,
for more than ever, Jen was susceptible to pretty lies that disguised truth.

  She said, “Let my child carry the blood of Quen-tan. It’s the least you can do for killing the Dark One last summer, he whom I’d intended to mate upon this day. The Dark One was powerful, a level eight like you. But you are nearly level nine, or could be if you made it so.”

  Her allure wrapped me up and reeled me in, but I would not be her dinner. No doubt she was mother’s idea of a decoy. Tazmarks fought each other one on one, but lately they had been banding together to do me in.

  She manifested a sharp gold knife, sliced her wrist, and raised the bleeding wound to my lips. Drink my love. Blood dripped on the gold carpet. What a waste.

  My heart raced. A little wouldn’t hurt. Then I’d rescue Jen. I took my mouth to the wound and sucked, slurping the crimson liquid. It washed over my teeth and tongue, and slid smoothly down my throat into my welcoming stomach, flaring my libido.

  With her other hand, she rubbed little circles on my thigh and kissed my chest.

  I wanted to fuck her, then kill her. However, the timing was wrong. Jen in the hands of mother, and all.

  She nipped my skin hard while I continued to suck her blood. I had an intense lust rush.

  Her blood was rejuvenating me. Maybe I could go a little further. Her blood pouring into me reminded me of a female Taz with whom I’d once mated. She had a reputation for killing her lovers—Tazmark or not. The challenge to survive her had thrilled me, until I realized she wasn’t strong enough or clever enough to kill me. To feed my waning thrill, I sweetened the pot by manipulating my homicidal servitors to reverse the role, and play innocent victim to her with the intention of doing her in. I moved through them psychically and commenced a cruel show with the finale of death. Ah . . . the bad old days. Given the dangers of Tazmarkian copulation, I’m surprised any manage it and survive.

  I couldn’t stop drinking the Tazmark’s blood, growing intoxicated, thirsty for the power contained therein. The rush resurrected some of the old me.

  She pulled her bloodied hand away. “Enough of that. Let’s do something else.”

  Something else. What thoughts had I before my blood high? Jen. I was losing time with Jen. I had to remember this Tazmark was a decoy sent to do a job. Tazmark Rule #2: Never trust a Tazmark. I intensified my Black Light Shield, blocking my every thought. Resistance was imperative. Once I was in the throes of passion, and the first of my seeds exploded within her, killing would be on her mind. Besides, I didn’t really want to betray Jen, another failing in me. She was so hell bent on sexual monogamy. This Tazmark must die.